Chapter 8 - The Ghost of Bellacosta
The midnight deadline was five minutes away.
Victor stood motionless in the center of the St. Regis penthouse ballroom, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy, controlled breaths. His midnight-black tuxedo was spotless, his gold cufflinks gleaming under the chandeliers, but his eyes burned with a lethal rage that terrified every boss in the room.
Celeste stood against the balcony glass, her crimson gown rumpled, her manicured thumb pressed firmly against the flashing red button of the remote detonator.
"You really thought you were smarter than everyone, Victor," Celeste rasped, a wild, insane laugh escaping her lips. "You thought you could come here with your lawyer and your speeches and take everything! But I spent ten years planning this night!"
"If you press that button, Celeste," Victor said, his voice flat and terrifyingly quiet, "there is no corner of this earth where you can hide from me."
"I don't need to hide, Victor!" she screamed. "Once the child is dead and the deadline passes, Julian's proxy trust activates automatically! I take the European accounts and leave you with nothing but ashes!"
At that exact moment, the heavy double doors of the ballroom opened once again.
Walking into the room, flanked by four heavily armed Bellacosta enforcers, was Marcus. And holding Marcus's hand, wearing her pale-lavender dress and clutching her stuffed toy, was eight-year-old Ellie.
Celeste’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. Her jaw dropped open as she looked at the living child standing before her.
"No... no! That's impossible!" Celeste stammered, her hand shaking violently on the remote. "The maid... the poison... the charges!"
Marcus stepped forward, pulling a disarmed frequency jammer from his coat pocket. "We swept the vineyard three hours ago, Celeste. Your explosives team was neutralized before you even left the estate. The remote in your hand is connected to nothing."
Celeste looked down at the flashing red light in her hand. She pressed the button franticly. Nothing happened.
Ellie walked slowly past the marble table, her small leather flats clicking softly against the floor. She stopped beside Victor, reaching up her tiny hand to grip his broad fingers.
"Daddy," Ellie whispered softly, looking at Celeste. "Is the bad lady going away now?"
Victor looked down at his daughter, his terrifying expression softening into an undeniable warmth. He lifted Ellie into his broad left arm, pulling her flush against his broad chest.
"Yes, princess," Victor murmured. "She's going away forever."
Victor turned to the remaining eight Council bosses. "Gentlemen. The threat against my family is neutralized. I present my legitimate heir, Ellie Bellacosta. Under the original charter, all voting shares remain under my sole guardianship until she comes of age."
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The eight bosses stood up from the circular table, bowing their heads in unanimous, absolute respect to Victor and his daughter.
Celeste dropped the useless remote onto the marble floor. She fell to her knees, weeping hysterically as Marcus and two bodyguards slapped heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists, dragging her out of the penthouse.
